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One Way Love

By: StangStar06



 Hi Folks, Sorry this isn't the one I promised you. It isn't the sci fi piece that I've started. This one pushed its way out while I was working on that one. The song from this one is called "One Way Love." It was sung by EG Daily in that old John Cusak Movie, "Better off Dead." My wife and I caught it on TV the other night and this came out. Thanks to the great Barney-R for his editing wizardry. And thanks to cheesy late night movies for inspiration. 

No sex between characters who are under 18.

Edited by Barney-R

SS06

* * * * * *

Be careful what you wish for ... you might just get it. The problem I have now is that I wished for what I got so hard, that I now question my sanity. I committed the ultimate evil ... well okay, I helped; but I did it for something that in the cold light of day, turned out to be worthless. 

Temporary insanity is probably what ruined my life. It was supercharged by a healthy dose of genuine, old-fashioned lust. 

My only excuse is that we're all human. We all make mistakes. When you add to that the fact that ... shit, how do I say this. Okay, I've always been a princess. My Daddy treated me like a princess. Every man I ever dated did, and my husband did too. I was used to getting what I wanted when I wanted it. 

My life has always been perfect. The house, I'm in right now was designed and built for me. It's not the biggest house, but it's very special. It's in a beautiful neighborhood in the most exclusive suburb in our state. 

My husband busted his ass getting me this house, and I took it for granted. We got married five years ago when we were twenty five. We'd been together for three years. I met him at his graduation from college. I was there to watch a friend graduate, and we ran into each other. It was love at first sight. 

I had never met a man who looked at me the way Terry did. I could see my future in his eyes. Terry was totally devoted to me. He wasn't the most handsome man I've ever met nor the biggest, but he worked so damned hard to impress me that I was bowled over. 

Terry had a great career as an engineer, but he was the black sheep in his family. All of the men in his family are cops or firefighters. 

Everything in our life was perfect until three months ago. Once again, it was a celebration and an unplanned meeting that destroyed everything. I was at an event at Terry's job where he was receiving an award for some modification he had made to some sort of car part. While, Terry stood up to receive his award and make a speech. I got up to see him more clearly and to get an unobstructed view of the stage, so I could take pictures of him. 

I was so busy looking at my husband through the lens of the camera, that I wasn't watching where I was going. I backed into a mountain of a man. My camera flew, and I crashed to the floor. 

I looked up and began muttering apologies only to stop in mid sentence. Leaning over me was the biggest, most beautiful man I had ever seen. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked as his voice was more a rumble than actual words. It sounded as if a mountain was talking. The timber and pitch of his voice reminded me of Barry White. He sounded more like boulders rolling down the side of a mountain than words. 

He reached out a huge appendage that was more like a paw than a hand. Without even trying, he lifted me off the ground and back to my feet. I stood there watching him, too shocked even to speak. 

"So are ya okay?" he rumbled. I did manage to nod several times. I was awash in waves of lust so powerful that they wiped out my ability to reason. I've heard of that happening, but I never believed it. 

Someone handed me my broken and forgotten camera, while I stood there staring at him. "Uh sorry, for uhm bumping into you," I muttered. 

"No harm done," he said. "Do you work here?" 

"Uhm, I'm here with my ... uh husband," I blurted out. "Uhm ... him." I pointed at the stage nervously. 

"Ohh!" he said. "Terry Stevens. The wonder boy himself. No wonder he's so driven. My brother talks about him all the time. But now that I've seen what he gets to come home to, I know why my brother has never had a chance." 

His flattery got to me, and I'm sure I turned several shades of red. His physique seemed to be too primal to be contained in a suit. He looked as if he would burst the seams of the flimsy garment at any second. 

"Do you work here?" I asked. 

"I wish," he said. "I'm not nearly smart enough for something like that. I'm Fred Lee; I work at the health club downtown." He fished in his pocket and handed me a card. "Your first session is free," he said. 

I locked the card inside of my sweaty palm as if it was solid gold. 

"It was nice meeting you," he said. And then he walked away. I'm sure that if he had asked me to leave with him, I would have. My husband and the presentation and the speech he was delivering at that moment was forgotten. 

Two days later, I had both, a membership in the club, and a place on his burgeoning client list. I later came to find that Fred's client list contained only wealthy women. Most of them were married and the majority of them were over forty. I was the youngest woman on his list at twenty-nine years old. 

I wish I could say that he had to bust his ass to get me, but I'd be lying. Before I met Fred, I was so in love with Terry that I would never have considered having sex with another man; any other man. But from our first session, it was clear that we both knew that the two of us would end up in bed. 

Our workout sessions, were merely foreplay and were abandoned as soon as Fred got into my pussy. Sex with Fred could hardly he called that. It was as if you needed a new word to describe it. 

His dick was huge. It had to be almost as big as my forearm. And it hurt really badly the first few times, but I was quickly addicted to him. 

Within a week, I was Fred's whore. I found myself dreaming of sucking his dick although I never did it. Fred wasn't really a foreplay guy. He always wanted to get inside of me as quickly as he could, and I couldn't say no to him. 

Terry of course loved me, so it didn't take him very long to figure out that something was going on. He was also smart enough to pin down the fact that I had begun acting "weird," at about the same time that I joined the gym. 

I was too blinded by lust to notice that Terry had, in fact, pinned it down. So when he walked into the gym and saw me kissing Fred, I was afraid to go home. Terry immediately went to the manager's office and canceled my membership. 

He explained to the owner of the club why he was doing it. Once the owner of the club found out what was going on, he fired Fred. Fred had a huge client list, but Terry's company, through their health plan gave the club almost half of their business. 

When Terry got home that evening, he didn't even speak to me. He changed clothes and immediately left again. I was in shock. I had prepared a story to explain what he had seen. But as I watched the blacked out tail lights of his 2014 Mustang rocket out of our driveway, I knew that I was in trouble. 

Terry got back long after I had gone to bed. I had tried to stay up to wait for him, but I succumbed to stress, tension, and fear. I was up early the next morning and caught him coming out of the shower. He had slept in our guest room, which told me a lot. 

For the next couple of days, Terry avoided me. He left before I awoke each morning and never actually settled in until after I was asleep. I finally cornered him about three days after it had happened. I had rehearsed what I was gong to say, but I never got the chance. 

"Terry, what you saw..." I began. 

"Britney, I think it would be better if you stayed with your parents for a few days," he said. 

"But how are we going to work things out if we don't..." I began again. He held his hand up, which indicated that I should be quiet. 

"Britney, before WE can begin to discuss HOW we can work things out; I have to decide IF we can work things out," he said. I was shocked. "To do that..." he continued. "I have to calm down and let my anger fade so I can make a rational decision instead of one that's based on an emotional reaction." 

"But Terry, I..." I began. 

"Don't Britney," he said. "You lost your right to say things like that. I'll call your parents and tell them to expect you. You can take your car." 

I was floored. There had never been a time in my life when anyone didn't want me around them. 

As he left he turned to me one last time. "I'm expecting a delivery this morning. I told the guy that there probably won't be anyone here. Not that it matters anymore, but I'll move it when I get home," he said. 

My shock became fear. I had no idea what was going on with Terry. This wasn't like him at all. Terry didn't do or buy anything without discussing it with me. But I realized then that a lot of things weren't 't the way they were supposed to be. 

As Terry drove off, the fact that he neither said nor kissed me good-bye wasn't lost on me. I considered ignoring what he'd told me to do. After all, it was my house too. Terry was my husband not my owner. 

However, I realized that antagonizing him was not in my best interest. I had started to pack a few things when my cell phone rang. 

"Hey Babe, can you talk?" asked Fred. 

"Yes," I said. 

"Old Terry, doesn't play, does he?" he asked. "Just so you know; we'll have to meet somewhere else from now on. My boss fired me." 

I didn't know what to say. He started talking to me about his other opportunities and how easy it would be for him to switch to another club. I was amazed at the thought that I would still want to be with him. I was even more amazed when less than an hour later, we were having sex in my bed. 

Fred looked around the house like a kid in a candy store. It was obvious that he was impressed with the house and the well maintained though modest yard. 

As we were talking about what came next, a tow truck pulled through the gate and into my yard. As we watched from the window two men unloaded some kind of car. Fred started to kiss me, which I knew was only the beginning of him wanting more sex. I was distracted. I wanted to look under that car cover to see what Terry had bought. 

For some reason, that car scared the shit out of me. I was still in shock that Terry had made a major purchase without checking with me. Terry and I did everything together. We made all of our decisions jointly. All of a sudden, he was doing things without even telling me, let alone conferring with me. 

After the delivery guys left, I told Fred that I needed to leave too. It was a three-hour drive to my parent's house, and I hadn't packed anything yet. I also needed to clean up the room to make sure that Terry had no idea of what we'd done. 

Fred promised to call me that night and left. 

When I arrived at my parents' house, they didn't understand what was going on. My parents loved Terry, and me coming home had them worried. I told them that Terry was just working on a project and needed some space. 

It worked for the first few days, but on Saturday morning, I awoke to find only my mother in the house. 

"Where's dad?" I asked her over coffee. 

"He drove down to the city to talk to Terry," she said. "Honey we know something is going on with you guys. You've been here for three days, and he hasn't called you once. You look like hell and that man worships the ground you walk on. Now this may be just as you said, but it may be something else too. Your dad just wants to help." 

Dad got home at around eight o'clock that evening. He was all smiles. As he spoke to mom. "My God, the man has a 67!" he said. 

"He has 67 what?" asked my Mom. 

"Our son has managed to acquire himself a 1967 Mustang Fastback," said my dad excitedly. 

"Doesn't he have a brand-new Mustang?" asked my mom. "Why does he want another one, especially one that's like 47 years old?" 

I heard my dad telling her the next part in a lower voice. It was as if he didn't want me to hear him. 

"I think he's trying to get over something. You know Terry. When something bothers him, he immerses himself in a new project. It's nothing to worry about," he said. My mom nodded and went into the kitchen to make him something to eat. 

My dad came over to me then. "You need to go home tomorrow," he said. "I don't know what stupid thing you've done. But you need to fix it." 

I was stunned. My dad had never spoken to me like that before. His face softened then. 

"Britney, I love you, Baby, but Terry does too. In all of the time, the two of you have been together, I've never seen him like this. He always talks about what the two of you are going to do, and how much he loves you. You know that he, and I have a deal. Your first son is going to be named after me. However, today he was so different. He didn't talk about the future at all. He also didn't talk about you. It was almost as if you weren't going to be a part of his life in the future," he said. 

I felt as if a cold hand had just grabbed my throat. It was too late to start the long drive then, but I packed my things and kissed my parents good-bye. I left very early the next morning. I didn't need to set an alarm because I didn't sleep a wink that night. I watched the clock. Before it was light, I was on the road. 

Even with a stop to eat when the sun came up, I made good time. I did encounter some heavier traffic that slowed me down. By the time that I got to the house, it was just after 8 a.m. 

The stop for breakfast had delayed me more than I'd thought. I had intended to arrive home before Terry left for work. The confusing thing for me was that Terry started work at 9. It only took him a half-hour to drive to work. He should have still been there. 

At least, my key still worked. I walked into the house to a huge surprise. Our house normally looked ready for a magazine spread. Terry and I were both very neat people. We also had a cleaning lady who came in twice a week to handle the heavy cleaning. But when I walked in that morning, the place was a mess. 

It looked like a drunken race car driver was living there. I had to thread my way through liquor bottles, car parts, car magazines, and pages of notes. And that was only the living room. The office was the same story. The kitchen looked as if someone had let their child loose in there. Well ... an alcoholic child. There were half eaten bowls of cereal, pizza boxes, and more liquor bottles. 

I walked into our bedroom and had to take a serious look around. I didn't see a single thing out of place. It looked as if no one had been in the room since I left it. The drawer I had gotten some of my clothes out of was still half open, the way I had left it. 

I went down the hall and saw that Terry had been sleeping in one of the other bedrooms. For some reason, that hurt me more than anything else had. I could have understood it if Terry had known that I'd had sex in our room with Fred. But since he didn't, it meant that as my Dad had warned, Terry was clearly ejecting me from his life and his heart. I needed to tread very carefully. 

There was also the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do. My head was constantly spinning. When I was around Fred, I couldn't think. It was as if my brain just shut off, and my pussy took over running things. When Fred wasn't around and my brain functioned, I knew that I was messing up. 

I spent most of the day working to clean the house. Since I hadn't heard from Fred, I got a chance to think clearly. I realized that I was in trouble. But I didn't think it was anything that I couldn't get through. Terry and I had several couples in our circle where one of the partners had slipped and had a fling. The majority of them had been able to work through it. From what I understood, it wasn't an easy process, but they'd done it. I was sure that we could too. 

I started making dinner as soon as I finished with the house. I made Terry's favorite meal, my pot roast with stewed vegetables. I also made myself as pretty as I had ever been. I did my makeup as if we were going out on the town. But I kept my clothing low key. I wore an older pair of shorts that Terry loved to see me in. And I wore one of his Mustang T-shirts on top. My whole look said that I was ready for my man. 

I may as well have been wearing a burlap bag and a gorilla mask. I got nervous as I heard the sound of Terry's Mustang pulling into the driveway. He came in, looked right through me, dropped his briefcase off in the office, and headed up the stairs. I was floored. I began to think that maybe he hadn't seen me. Maybe he didn't realize that I was back. 

A few moments later, he came bounding back down the stairs. He looked around and found his iPod, clipped it to his running shorts and left the house. I couldn't figure it out. Terry usually spent some time with me before he went out to run. This was the time when we sat down and talked about our day and what we'd done while we'd been apart. 

If we were going out, he did come home and do his run just to get it out of the way. But I had no idea where we were going that he needed to run this early. At any rate, it was a good thing. With his run out of the way, we could sit down and talk. 

However, when he came back it was like something out of a movie. He walked right past me, ignoring my greeting. I felt like one of those characters in a movie where a person is dead and doesn't know it. They try to communicate with the people around them only to find out that no one can see them or hear them. 

He went into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and ordered a pizza. Then he went upstairs and took a shower. Almost as if he'd done it so many times that he had the timing down he bounced back down the stairs in an old T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, just as the pizza guy rang the door bell. 

He carried the pizza and a soda he grabbed from the refrigerator straight out to the garage. I was floored. He was singing a song as he passed me. 

"Never know if you're a victim or the fool, I only know I can't stop thinking about you, 

Love was good and you take it on the run, but I fell too hard I guess I ain't the one." 

Terry did that. He picked out songs that reflected the way he felt to listen to while he ran or while he worked. I wish I knew what God damned song he was listening to so it could tell me a lot about his mood and how he was feeling. That would let me know whether it was going to be hard for me to fix things, or if it was just going to take time. 

I waited for a while and then opened the door to the garage just a crack. I saw Terry sitting there on his stool. He had a wrench in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. Our usually immaculate garage had all kinds of parts strewn all over it. 

I was expecting him to be working on his new project, but he seemed to be taking it apart. I had no idea why he would buy a car just to take it apart. I was sure that it had something to do with blocking me out of his mind, though. 

I just needed to wait him out. That was what he'd told me in the first place. When he was ready, we'd talk. We would probably talk that night. How long could he stay out there in the garage? 

A long ass time, it seemed. He totally immersed himself in his music and his project. By the time I could no longer keep my eyes open, he was still out there, mumbling along to the music from his iPod and taking that car apart. 

When I woke up the next morning, he was already gone. I had to admit that what was going on wasn't what I had imagined. I had expected for there to be a lot of yelling and talking and some hand wringing before we decided that we were both to blame. It was mostly me but in some ways Terry was also to blame. We would rededicate ourselves to our marriage and each other, and things would slowly go back to normal. 


One Way Love



Sometime in the future, Terry would do the same thing, and I would forgive him. Our marriage would be stronger for it. But apparently, Terry had no idea of how a normal marriage worked. I sat down at my kitchen table with no idea of what would happen next. 

The ringing of my phone at least gave me something to take my mind off of what was going on. 

"Hey Babe, sorry I've been out of touch for the past couple of days. But your little husband really did a number on me," said Fred. Just hearing his voice excited me. I knew that I should hang up on him, but I was a woman who needed and deserved a lot of attention. Besides just listening to him couldn't do any harm. I also wanted to know what the hell he was talking about. 

"I can't find a job anywhere," he said. "No health club or gym in town will hire me. My personal training clients are dropping me like a hot rock because I'm not allowed to train them anywhere. Not only will most of the clubs not put me on staff; they won't allow me to work out of them. They're all worried about being sued if I put the moves on the wrong old lady. I ought to kick your husband's ass." 

I had to admit that I was surprised. Terry was a handsome and charming man. That was why I married him. But I never would have expected him to handle Fred so effortlessly. I guess I had imagined any conflict between them as being a physical one and that Fred would easily mop up the floor with my husband. 

That had also given me the idea in the back of my mind that Fred deserved me more, being the better man. But Terry ruined Fred without even working up a sweat. It was all I could do not to laugh. 

"Is he home?" asked Fred. I was sure that I detected a bit of fear in his tone. 

"Nope, he's at work," I said. 

"Good, I'll be there in ten," he said. 

Ten minutes later, he showed up at the door. The results were predictable. The problem was that Fred was like a drug. The first few times had been powerful and overwhelming. However, this time, it was different. By this time I'd seen his entire bag of tricks, and although he filled my pussy more than any man I had ever known, I had noticed something about it. There was something lacking. It wasn't a physical thing, but there was just something missing. 

It began to feel ... the same. It was as if we'd done it enough times for me not to be surprised or swept up in it. Maybe it was the fact that the man I thought was practically invulnerable, was showing his vulnerability. The man who had dominated me and seemed like a force of nature had been defeated, demoralized, and dominated himself, by Terry. 

Meanwhile, I had begun to notice exactly how sexy the man I married is. The real problem was that he no longer wanted anything to do with me. 

I couldn't believe it, but as that huge mountain of a man pounded away at me, I began to imagine Terry in his place. 

"So how are things going with the husband?" he asked when we were finished. 

"He's so angry that he doesn't even speak to me," I said. "It's as if I was a ghost." 

"He's trying to burn you out of his heart," he smirked. "Interesting. I wonder if he'll make it." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked. 

"Some of the men in his situation discover some sort of backbone," he said. "They try different things. I've had a couple of guys try to fight me. A couple of smarter ones paid me to leave their wives alone. There was one guy who hired a hit man to take me out. That was bad. I ended up having to move back here. But your little hubby. He's smart as a fuckin' tack. And he has balls. Big giant king-sized balls." 

"Whah?" I asked. 

"Don't you see it?" he asked. "The guy walked into that club, took one look at me, sized me up, and went to war. He realized that the two of us brawling wouldn't be a good thing for him, so he fought me on a different level. 

"I took something from him, so he took more back from me. I took one woman from him, or at least, that was the way I looked at it. He took or tried to take all of my women away from me. That motherfucker is scary. In less than five minutes, he seems to have fucked up my world and my livelihood. Every club in town ... every club in the state said not only no, but hell no, to me. I even offered to work for free in some of them if I can train my clients in them. 

"And now you're telling me something that I should have expected," he said. 

"What's that?" I asked. I was mildly amused at the unease in his voice. 

"Besides a backbone, he seems to have a lot of self-respect," he said. 

"Of course he does," I said. "I wouldn't have married a man who didn't respect himself." 

He just laughed. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?" he asked. "He loves you, or loved you. You were his biggest weakness, but he feels like you betrayed him. Some men would struggle with that. The love would battle with that self-respect. Apparently in his case, the self-respect seems to have won. He's burning you out of his heart. He's simply not the forgiving type." 

"What are you saying?" I asked. 

"I think he's done with you," he smirked. He saw my reaction and laughed. "Face it, Honey. You've used all of your moves. You dolled yourself up and made yourself all sexy, and he didn't give a damn. Your charm has worn off for him." 

"What should I do?" I asked. 

"Shit, why are you asking me?" he asked. "How the hell should I know? I've never been in love in my whole life." 

"But you..." I began. "You...?" 

"What? You can say it. I fucked you. I never once told you that I was in love with you or any of that shit. If you're looking for love, ya ain't gonna get it from me." 

"You ruined my life, " I screamed. 

"If you were so God damned happy, you should have kept your legs closed," he said. "Besides, ignoring you, what else has he done?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"This could go at least two ways," he told me. "He could just be giving you the silent treatment as the first part of your punishment. If that's it, he could be planning some really unpleasant things for you before he forgives you. That would be the best-case scenario. Has he locked you out of the bank accounts or anything like that?" 

"No, all of my cards still work," I told him. 

"Good, give me some money," he said. 

"Why should I give you a dime?" I asked. 

"Because I'm the one advising you and helping you through this," he said. "Face it lady, I'm all you've got right now." 

I had to admit that the advice he gave me made sense. Over the next few days, Fred became like my best girlfriend. Well ... like a girlfriend who fucked me. Okay a girlfriend who fucked me and kept taking money from me. 

We came up with all kinds of things I could do to get Terry to forgive me. The problem was that none of them worked. Then came the day that the shit really hit the fan. I was waiting for Fred to come over and dreading having sex with him when the car pulled up. 

A woman got out of the car. She was a few years younger than I am. She looked like a college student. As she got closer, I could tell she was chewing gum. I remembered chewing a lot of gum when I was in school. 

"Hey, are you Britney Stevens?" she asked. I just nodded. 

"I don't believe you," she said. "You look like you, there's no way you're thirty." 

"I am," I said smiling. "Do you want to see my license?" 

"Yeah!" She said and cracked her gum a couple of times really loudly. "Your husband sent me to deliver something to you and you don't look old enough to be thirty years old." 

The flattery, combined with the fact that she'd said Terry was sending me something sent me reeling. It was just like Terry. He was always sending me flowers or invitations to come to lunch or dinner with him. The fact that he was actually communicating with me gave me hope that I could see light at the end of the tunnel. I got my wallet and showed her my driver's license. 

"Wow, great picture," she said. "You are Britney Stevens; you are thirty years old, and you are SERVED," she said handing me a folder full of papers. She cracked her gum loudly and walked off. By the time I got my head out of my ass long enough to feel stupid about the way that she played me, she was back in her car and pulling away. 

For a long time, I just stood there, clutching the folder. Tears sprang unbidden from my eyes. The heat of the tears surprised me. It had been a long time since I had cried. In fact, my entire marriage to Terry had been one long period of happiness. I couldn't believe that he wanted to end it. 

It was only sex. This was no reason for us to divorce. This was only a misunderstanding. We just saw things differently. In our pre-marriage counseling they had warned us against letting our differences separate us. 

If I caught Terry fucking that red-headed secretary of his, I wouldn't have divorced him. I'd have made him fire her, but I wouldn't have divorced him. Terry's secretary was so obviously in love with him that it was funny. Terry like most men was oblivious to it. She was; I had to admit a really pretty woman, and she was younger than I am. But Terry was so in love with me that she could have shown up for work without panties and wearing a "Fuck Me," T-shirt, and he wouldn't have noticed. 

The main reason that I kept her around was because she was my cat. With her around none of the mice could get close to Terry. She watched him like a hawk to make sure that none of those smart, sexy female engineers or those young nubile interns could get near him. And now Terry wanted a divorce. How would I face my family and friends? 

I wandered back I to the house leaving the door open. I was locked inside my head that I never heard Fred walk in. 

"What's eating you?" he asked. I just held up the papers. He chuckled. 

"Well I guess we knew this was coming didn't we?" he rumbled. "Well this is it!" 

"This is what?" I asked. 

"This is our chance to get back at him," he smiled. "We're gonna make this divorce so hard on him that he'll end it." 

"You mean I can get him back?" I asked. He just smiled and nodded. 

"And if you can't get him back we'll take him for every cent he has," he said. "He'll spend the rest of his life working for us." 

"What do you mean us?" I asked. I was beginning to see that Fred might not be my friend. I knew that he didn't love me. He had said as much. But at that point, I wasn't even sure if he was on my side. 

"You need my help and my advice," he said. "And I don't work for free." 

"Why do I need your help?" I asked. 

"Because you're too emotional to handle this," he rumbled. "You aren't thinking clearly, and neither is he. Like have you ever thought about what grounds he has for the divorce?" 

"You and I are having sex. I cheated on him," I said. 

"Never say that again," he snapped. 

"But it's true," I said. He just shook his head. 

"Dummy, this is the law," he spat. "They don't give a fuck about the truth. All they care about is what you can prove. Your hubby caught us kissing. Both of us will go into court and swear that it was only a kiss. You made a break-through on one of the exercises in your workout. We hugged each other in celebration of that milestone. The hug turned into an inadvertent kiss that your husband walked in on. He has no proof that anything else has ever occurred. He has never seen nor heard about us ever having sex." 

"Can it really be that easy?" I asked. He just nodded. 

"There are two options for him," he said. "He can either go for a no-fault divorce, in which case you two will split everything fifty/fifty with you probably getting alimony for a while in addition to your share of everything. Or he can try to prove infidelity in the hope that with the right judge you might end up with next to nothing. But he has no proof, and we have to make sure he doesn't get any." 

"Now will we do that?" I asked. 

"From now on, we have to be very careful," he said. "When we get together to fuck, we have to make sure that no one sees us together. We also have to assume that he'll have a bug on your house phone. That works in our favor because I've never called your house phone." 

By that time, he was pawing one of my breasts with his huge hand and leading me towards my bedroom. "But I don't want to have sex with you," I said. "That's the thing that started this whole mess." 

"Don't be stupid," he said. "You can't afford to piss me off. I'm the only person who's on your side in this. I'm your only ally. It would be a disaster for you to upset me. Imagine the harm I could do if I went to his side. I could go into court and tell the truth. I could tell them how my clients were all women that I had sex with. I could tell them how you couldn't resist me, and we had sex every time we got together. I could tell them that we did it here in his own bed, and that you gave me money. Believe me, the truth is not your friend. Now take off your clothes." 

"But you have all of those other women," I said. "You can fuck one of them." 

"Most of them are gone," he said. "Besides you are the youngest woman on my list. You're the only one under forty. You also haven't had a baby yet. Your pussy is still wet and tight. You're the tightest of all of them. I enjoy forcing my big dick into that tight, tiny little pussy. There are a couple of those old bags that can really move, while you tend to just lie there, but tight is tight so you win hands down." 

As I've mentioned, when it came to sex, the bloom was off of the rose. I had figured out what was missing. Our sex was just that, it was sex. What was missing was the emotion that Terry put into it? When he had me, I was always amazed at how much the love just poured out of his eyes and every touch. There was no questioning the fact that he loved me. Sex with Fred was just sex. He could have been screwing a pocket pussy or a blow up doll. The only thing that mattered to him was filling something with his cum. 

The only thing I could be glad about was that he always used a condom. Terry and I had been delaying having children until we were ready. Lately, we'd begun talking about it so I'd gone off of the pill. Having a child accidentally with Fred would have ruined my life even more. 

"Hey, roll over and get on top of me," he growled. I realized then that even as he sawed away at me, my mind was somewhere else. I had forgotten that we were having sex. He wanted me more involved in the act, so he wanted me on top. 

"Can you move, or just do something?" he said. "I might as well be screwing a blow up doll and baby you may be..." He stopped abruptly and threw me off of him. 

"Oh shit," he yelled. He grabbed his clothes from the floor and left the room. He threw his clothes on in the hall. 

When I got into the hallway, he was fully dressed and on his phone talking in very hushed tones. He looked at me as if I was stupid. 

"Get dressed," he said. "I have a friend who's on his way." 

"What's going on?" I asked. 

"Your hubby is no dummy," he said. "I told you that this was us against him right?" 

I nodded. "Well he is definitely going for the jugular. He's doing everything the right way. He didn't stop you from moving back into the house. Courts look at that sympathetically. He didn't close any of your accounts, which was another good move. The court will see him in an extremely positive way. I don't think he's going for the no-fault divorce he said. He's going for the throat." 

"I thought you said he would need proof for that," I sobbed. "You said he had no proof. I don't want a divorce. I want Terry back!" 

"You may have to settle for taking his money," he said. "I think he has proof." 

"How?" I asked. "You said that it was his word against ours." 

"I think I saw one of those tiny cameras above the bed," he said. "I didn't think he was able to move this quickly. He probably had the whole house wired while you were out. He may have all the proof he needs. You might be out on your pretty little ass." 

We sat on the porch waiting for his friend. He arrived a short time later. He was a small nerdy looking guy in a hopped-up Japanese car. It was one of those cars with a huge exhaust pipe on the back of it. Those cars always made Terry laugh. He constantly said the drivers had watched the 'Fast and the Furious' movies too many times. 

I can still see his face smirking as he'd blow by one of them on the freeway. Until now, it never seemed to make much difference to me. "What do you get when you put a big exhaust pipe on a shitty little car?" he'd asked me once. I had no idea. 

"A louder shitty car," he had replied while laughing his ass off. 

The nerd got out of his loud shitty car and walked around my house with all kinds of hand-held electronic devices. From the way the guy looked and acted, I was sure that one of those hand-held electronic devices was a vibrator, and that he used it often. I really didn't like the way he looked at me. 

He came back to us shaking his head. He gestured for us to be quiet and to go out on the porch. I started to ask him what the hell was going on, but he held up his hand for silence. He scanned the porch and walked us out near the curb. 

"Fred, the place is wired up like NASA," he said. "I found at least twelve cameras and there are bugs and mics too. The phone is also tapped. Judging from the frequencies involved, it's PI type stuff and state of the art." 

"So what can you do?" asked Fred. 

"What do you want me to do?" asked the nerd. "I can locate and pull it all out. I can jam it; I can even erase anything that's there that hasn't been downloaded yet." 

"Jam it now," said Fred. "And erase anything that hasn't 't been sent." 

"Can you afford to have me do that?" asked the nerd. "It'll cost you five hundred." 

"Give the man five hundred bucks," Fred told me. I looked at him crazily. "It's a lot cheaper than giving your husband more evidence to use against you in court. Instead of a cushy divorce settlement, think about having to move back with your parents permanently." I gave the nerd the cash I had and wrote a check for the balance. 

"Legally, jamming is a much better option," said the nerd. "If it was the homeowner who put the devices in the home, you could go to jail for removing them." He stepped back inside of the house and went about his business. 

"Video of last week has already been sent, so there's nothing we can do about it. I'm pretty sure that this shit was already here last week before you left. So our little get together last week is probably already going to be used as evidence. The only thing we can do is hope to cut down on the amount of evidence, but this really doesn't look good. I have to come up with something. It may take me a couple of days. In the mean while, don't call me. When I have something, I'll contact you. But if I were you, I would try really hard to make up with the guy. If you can get him in bed that might help," said Fred. 

"How am I supposed to get him in bed?" I whined. "I can't even get him to talk." 

Over the next few days, things at home only got worse. I hired a lawyer. We set up a meeting with Terry's lawyer. The meeting didn't go well. Terry's lawyer was keeping his cards pretty close to the vest. He wasn't bragging about their evidence, or even if they had any. But he had a lot going for him in his case. There were several big guns he trotted out. There were also a lot of things like the fact that we were very young, we'd only been married for five years, and that we had no kids. 

Based on the fact that I could still go out and work, they were trying to rule out alimony. Terry also wanted to pay me half of our equity in the house. Since we'd only been there for three years that was next to nothing. He also pointed out that without a source of income, I couldn't afford the mortgage on the house by myself. 




One Way Love



The worst part of it was that going to the meeting was a part of my plan to get Terry talking to me. But Terry didn't even attend the meeting. He let his lawyer handle it. His lawyer claimed that Terry was too broken up by my betrayal to be able to face me. He just wanted to move on with his life. I felt like shit. 

When I got home after the meeting, Terry was already in the garage. I could hear him cursing at several stuck bolts as he tried to take the car apart. Over the last few days, I had spoken to my dad about what Terry was doing. He was doing something called a "Resto mod" on a 1967 Mustang Fastback. 

Apparently, my husband hated the look of the new 2015 Mustang, so he'd gone back, and found his dream Mustang and was making one to suit his purposes. He would keep the original body style but with a few tweaks and a bit of sculpting to modernize it. The car's suspension, engine, exhaust system, and interior components would be totally modernized. It would truly be a one-of-a-kind Mustang, built to Terry's specifications. My dad sounded as if he was jealous. 

"Hey, Britney, this is a great opportunity for you," said my Dad. "This is a chance for the two of you to bond. You don't have to know about cars to take one apart. You can merely hand him wrenches and tools. Just dress up in a cute little outfit and go help him. This is a good chance for the two of you to talk your problems out." 

I changed into some tight jean shorts that Terry loved seeing me in. I put on a top that my boobs could easily fall out of and headed for the garage. 

I told myself that there was no need for me to be nervous. This was the man who loved me so much that he had asked me to spend the rest of my life with him. Sure we were having problems, but Terry was still the same guy. 

As the door opened, I was sure he saw me. I saw a lot of emotions pass his face. I saw pain, anger and even traces of the love he always used to show. Then he turned away from me and went back to what he was doing. 

"Do you need some help?" I asked quietly. 

"No thank you," he said. The words sounded as if they were being torn from his throat. If he was feeling even the tiniest bit of the pain, I detected in his voice, and managed to express it in court, not only would he get his divorce, I would end up in jail. 

I stood there for a long time after he continued working. I realized a lot of things then. I think that terrible moment of listening to the pain in my husband's voice was when I really grew up. I had been a spoiled little bitch, and I deserved what I was getting. 

For me, life was a game. It was all about being pretty and having the things I wanted. For the early part of my life, my father and mother bought those things for me. After I got married Terry had taken over. And it became clear to me that our life together had been so much more real for Terry than it had ever been for me. It wasn't a game to him. He loved me so much more than he had ever been able to tell me. 

His world had been shattered when I did what I'd done. I felt so badly about everything now. I would have given anything to take back what happened. I also realized that although I hadn't acted like it, I loved Terry far more than I thought. The concept of being without him in my life or of seeing him with someone else hurt me badly. But I had no one to blame except myself. 

"Terry can we talk?" I asked. 

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. 

"Terry there's everything to talk about," I said. "When did you start drinking hard liquor?" 

"When the pain started, I thought it might help," he said. "They didn't have anything at CVS that worked for having your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on by the person you love more than anything in the world." 

His voice was so raw and so full of emotion that it hit me like a fist. "So I just came home and drank until I blacked out," he continued. "While I was unconscious, the pain went away." 

I tried to change the subject. I couldn't take listening to how badly I had hurt a person who from the time we met had literally done anything he could to show me that he loved me. I felt like the worst kind of shit. 

They always say that when you're afraid or in danger, it's best to attack. So I attacked. I acted like there was no doubt that Terry and I would be back together soon, and I was concerned about our future and our finances. 

"So why did you spend so much of our money a car that won't be running for a long time?" I asked. 

"Cause the whiskey ain't working, anymore," he sang. From the tone and the fake twang in his voice I could tell it was one of those hillbilly songs that he was so fond of. Those guys with names like Twitty, and Travis and Billy Ray Bob always sang about pickup trucks and getting their women back. 

"Terry, I'm sorry," I said. For the first time in my life, I wanted to beg a person to forgive me for something I had done. I put my heart into the apology. "Terry, I made a mistake. It was stupid; I was totally wrong, and it was only a physical thing. I swear to you that nothing like that will ever happen again. Please forgive me." 

For a long time, the room was so silent that you could hear the crickets chirping outside. Then Terry let out a sigh. "I forgive you Britney," he said. 

I felt so much better that it was amazing. I smiled for the first time in days. I'm not sure anyone can understand the value of a smile, unless they've gone through hell. But it was as if my husband's simple statement of forgiveness had set me free from the darkest prison on Earth. 

Although the sun was going down, the whole world seemed to be brighter. My world started to turn again. I got a little bit of my confidence back just from his words. 

"Terry, please don't stay out here all night working on this thing," I said. "We haven't slept together in almost two weeks. Tonight especially, I'd like to have you in bed with me at a decent time." 

He looked shocked. But I just waved at him as I closed the door. I danced all the way up the stairs. I showered and perfumed my body with a scent that Terry loved. I put on the sexiest night gown I had. Then I lay down on our bed to wait. 

That was when I noticed it. I was tingling all over, and my pussy was especially warm. Just imagining Terry and me together again had me so wet down there that it rendered my shower useless. After a little bit longer a trickle of juice dripped down the crevice between my legs as I waited for Terry to come and take me. 

Just imagining now gentle and loving he'd always been and would be that night had me drooling from both sets of lips. I drifted off to sleep still thinking about it. 

When I awoke the next morning, I was confused. I ran through the house looking for Terry. He was nowhere to be found. I looked at the clock and realized that he'd probably gone to work. 

I called his office and got his secretary, Christina. She sounded as if she didn't want to talk to me. She also sounded as if she didn't want him talking to me either. 

"This is the business line, Britney," she said icily. "I keep telling you that you can't call this number for personal AFFAIRS." 

"Oops, I did it again," I said. "But since I'm on the line, I wish that you would let me speak to him." 

"So ... I'm a Genie in a bottle?" she said. "You want me to make your wish come true?" 

"You drive me crazy," I said to her. "I just want to talk to my husband for a minute."

"What a girl wants," she began. "And what she can have isn't always the same thing." 

"You're toxic," I said. "I'm gonna have Terry fire your ass." 

"Beautiful," she said and then she hung up on me. 

I tried calling Terry's cell phone, and he never answered it. So by the time he got home I was pissed. I wanted to know why he stayed in the garage working in that car for so long when I had clearly asked him not to. I also wanted to know why he didn't wake me up when he got done playing with his car. And finally I wondered why he went off to work without telling me or kissing me good-bye. 

"Britney, surely you remember that car is all I have right now. If I'm not at work; I'm probably going to be working on it," he said. "As far as all the rest goes, did you forget that we're getting a divorce?" 

"Nuh Unh!" she said. "You forgave me. That's over. I want you to fire Christina. She may be a fighter, but it's you and me, until the world ends." 

"Britney, I forgave you because it was the right thing to do in order for both of us to move on. That doesn't mean that we 're not divorcing, or that we're back together." 

"But why?" i whined. "If you just give us a chance, we'll be stronger." 

"Britney, I could never trust you again," he said. "The kind of disregard and disrespect you've shown me, let me know that you've never loved me the way I love you. I think the divorce is the only way that either of us will be happy. We both deserve to be loved and to be with someone who's willing to put us first." I was shocked. 

Without giving me another chance his forgiveness meant nothing. I was so pissed that I just turned around and went back upstairs to the bedroom. I knew that we needed to talk more, but at that moment, I had no idea what to say to him. I couldn't believe that he still wanted a divorce. 

I was also a bit pissed because I had bared my heart and begged his forgiveness, and it just felt as if he had thrown my apology back in my face. No one had ever treated me that way. I spent the entire night crying over it. The next morning, I came up with a few things to say to him to convince him to give us another chance. I quickly jumped out of bed only to discover that he had left for work early again. 

I knew that Christina would never put my call through, but Terry and I would definitely have a talk that evening when he got home. My anger at him sneaking off to work yet again, grew. 

At nine in the morning, my lawyer called. He wanted to talk to me about the settlement. Apparently, Terry and his lawyer wanted the papers signed so we could push the divorce through even sooner. My lawyer told me that Terry was even more upset now than he was before. Obviously, me talking to him wasn't a good thing. I shouldn't have put any pressure on him. I only made things worse. 

At ten o' clock, my mother called me in tears. It turned out that someone she knew from church had seen Terry going into his lawyer's office and had begun people to speculating on whether or not we were getting a divorce. I knew that if the reasons for the divorce got out, my reputation would be severely damaged. I needed a way to either stop the divorce or at least keep it quiet. 

At ten o' clock, a delivery man left a package on my doorstep. I picked it up and opened it since it was addressed to me. Inside was a cheap cell phone and a piece of paper with a number on it. I called the number on the phone and was surprised when Fred answered. 

He gave me an address. It was an auto service place. He told me to take my car in order to be serviced. I drove to the place, and as soon as they pulled my car in, the service guy pulled me into a room behind the counter. 

Fred was there. "We're screwed," he said. "Your hubby is clearly not the forgiving type. He is systematically giving us what we gave each other." I just looked at him. At that moment, I hated Terry. 

Terry was clearly not the guy I married. I just didn't understand why he wouldn't give me another chance. I think that at that moment, I was still seeing the world as if everyone was supposed to do exactly what I wanted them to do. I still hadn't figured out the fact that everyone in the world had feelings and rights, just as I did. 

"I don't have time for your bullshit," I said. "Speak clearly and simply; no riddles, no metaphors. Just say what you mean." 

As I spoke, I had the idea that the reason Terry wouldn't forgive me was that he had already found someone else. The reason that he didn't want to fuck me was because he was now fucking her. No wonder he was so unwilling to take me back." 

"I know some things about your divorce," said Fred. "Your husband's lawyer is trying to get the case seen by Judge Crockett." 

I had no idea what any of that meant. 

"Judge Sonny Crockett," he said. "He used to be a vice cop in Miami. He fell in love with a local girl who was on vacation down there in Florida. He left the force, and they moved up here. He became a lawyer instead and was elected to the bench. A few years ago, he caught the bitch cheating on him. They were never divorced. He left the gate to the pen where they kept his pet alligator, Elvis, open. The gator got out and ... uh ... ate his wife. Crockett was found innocent of any wrong doing. He took a few years off work to get over his tragic loss..." 

"So he still loved her, even after she cheated on him?" I asked. I was grasping at straws. I needed some evidence that there might be hope for me. 

"Fuck no!" spat Fred. "He was mourning the loss of his pet, not the wife. They put the alligator down. You can't keep an animal that has killed a live human. Once they've had human blood it's crazy. They start acting like Vampires, who've tasted Sookie Stackhouse's fairy blood. They just can't get enough of it. 

Anyway, ever since he's been back on the bench, he's been known to be extremely severe when dealing with cheating spouses. They usually end up with nothing. Or as close to nothing as he can arrange. Since you guys have only been married for five years. You might end up DDB. That's Dead Damned Broke. The bastard even has a little rubber alligator dangling from the end of his gavel. If we go to his court, we 're both up shit creek." 

I looked at him seriously then. "What's in this for you?" I asked. 

"Your hubby is still after me," he said. "He's named me in your divorce case as a contributing factor. He's also suing me for alienation of affection, actions contributing to the decline of a marriage, rendering great emotional stress and several other nuisance charges." 

Fred looked at me, and I could tell he was dealing with both anger and fear. We were both pissed at Terry. My kind and gentle hubby loved me so much that he was trying to burn the world down with the embers of our dying marriage. I wish that he could see that he was what had killed it. I still loved him. In fact, I loved him more than ever. I had seen over the past two weeks what living without him was like, and I hated it. 

"I think he even wants to get my brother fired," said Fred. "Your hubby is trying to scorch the earth. If I get this on my record, since you're a client, it would be very bad for me. I could lose my certification as a trainer. Then I would never be able to work anywhere, let alone in Michigan." 

"I'm pissed at him too," I said. "I don't want to end up broke and homeless." 

"I have a plan," he said. "But we have to move quickly. From what I understand your divorce hearing is going to be very soon." 

"I'll do anything," I said. Even as I said it, I felt a chill go up my spine. "What are we going to do?" 

"We have no choice," he said seriously. "It's us or him. We have to take him out. If we don't you'll end up being painted as the town whore and I'll go down the drain with you." 

"And what do you mean take him out?" I asked. 

"I'm going to arrange a little car accident for him," he said. "Nothing too bad. Probably a few broken bones. But he's going to need a lot of time to recover. That will delay the court case for a long time. During that time, you have to be his nurse and get back on his good side and get him to drop the divorce. He'll be totally dependent on you. You'll have a few months to convince him that you're really sorry and win him back. Can you handle it?" 

"Oh yeah," I said. "I'm gonna get my man back. You take care of your part, and I'll take care of mine. Just don't fuck up. I need him hurt badly enough that he doesn't just let his fucking secretary take care of him." 

"Don't worry about my part," he snapped. "I have a professional on my side. Just make sure you can win him back." 

"I'll be sucking his dick three or four times a day until he can fuck me again," I said. "He'll be putty in my hands." He looked skeptical. 

"What's wrong?" I asked. 

"Your blowjobs kind of suck," he said. 

Leaving the service station I pretended to look around my car to make sure it was fine. I had words with the owner of the station on the outside of the facility. I did that just in case Terry had a PI watching me. Fred told me that hiring a PI to get evidence was often done during a divorce. 

That evening, I tried to talk to Terry again. I once more, made his favorite meal. This time I took it to him in the garage. I carried the plate out to him completely naked. He looked up to see me holding the plate. As he turned his face was only inches away from my naked pussy. 

I stood with my legs apart holding the plate. "Which one would you rather eat?" I asked. 

Terry didn't react the way I expected. I saw tears roll down his face, and he threw the wrench he was holding across the garage. It shattered one of the light fixtures. He started sobbing uncontrollably. In all of the time we had been together, Terry had always been a rock. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. 

"I love you so much," he sobbed. "Why did you do this to us? Was it worth it?" He ran out of the garage. A few minutes later, I heard the sound of his Mustang driving off into the night. 

Even during his outburst, the only thing I saw in his eyes was love. As angry as he'd gotten there was no way he would ever have hurt me. I burst out in tears myself. I was angry at myself for what I had just done. It was a terrible thing to tease a man who loved me that much and was only trying to find his way past what he felt for me. 

Even the things he was doing to Fred were only revenge for what Fred, and I had done. I should have been flattered that someone loved me and valued me so highly that he would try to ruin someone else for taking me away from him. 

Terry was wrong about that though. I had screwed up. I'd had sex with another man a few times. I was a victim of lust. I would never give in to that again. No one could ever take me from Terry. We belonged together. 

His car drove back up just after midnight. I decided not to try to talk to him that night. I would let him have some space and some peace. I already put him through enough. Perhaps this wasn't something that we could fix alone. I decided to try to find a marriage counselor to help us through it. Maybe I could convince Terry to go. 

I dreamed that night of going through counseling. I saw us arguing and screaming at each other. I saw us slowly drawing closer again. I saw us delaying the divorce and then suspending it. I saw months of us walking around on egg shells around each other. I saw me for the first time putting as much work in on our marriage as Terry had always done. 

I saw us arguing and forgiving each other repeatedly. I saw furtive attempts just to touch each other. I saw tentative cuddling that made me so happy I wanted to burst. Eventually, I saw sex. It became more and more regular until one morning, I just knew that I was pregnant. Our baby brought a whole new commitment between us. However, I still saw uncertainty. 

The uncertainty was on my part. I had to make sure that Terry never had any reason to mistrust me. In order to totally re-earn my husband, I had constantly to make sure he knew that there would never ever be another reason for him to question my love for him. 

But it all backfired. Our son was ten years old in the dream. Terry and I were renewing our wedding vows, and Fred showed up at the ceremony. He had no idea who the ceremony was for. He came over to congratulate us both, but as soon as Terry saw him, he reacted... 




One Way Love



"Terry, nooooo!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I woke up to find that I had slept far longer than normally. It had been a dream, but my scream was real. And I realized that the reason I had screamed had nothing to do with the dream. 

My scream was because I was in mortal fear for my mate. I quickly dialed Fred's number. I had to tell him not to do it. I didn't want Terry hurt. In fact, since my misplaced anger from the previous day had passed, I couldn't abide the thought of Terry being hurt. 

"You are a stupid bitch," he yelled. "I told you not to call me on this God damned phone." 

"Don 't do it," I screamed over his protests. 

"It's too late," he said. "He'll be fine. Just do your part and stick with the plan." 

I called Terry at work. His dumb assed secretary was worried too. Fred hadn't arrived yet. I begged her to have him call me as soon as he got there. 

I paced the floor and then tried calling his cell phone. He hated to answer his phone while he was driving, but I didn't care. There was no answer though. It went straight through to voicemail. 

Just after noon, someone knocked on the door. I flung the door open to the last person I expected to see. It was Terry's older brother Ray. I was always amazed that Ray Stevens had become a cop. Terry had told me stories about his wild brother growing up. Ray had a penchant for showing up at big public affairs and running through them bare-assed naked. He was so quick a runner that he was never caught. They even had a nickname for him. 

Oh yes, they called him the streak. The fastest thing on two feet. However, standing there with his head hung low, Ray didn't look like a streak. 

"Britney, I always warned him about that God damned car," he said. Before he could utter another syllable, I grabbed my purse. 

"Ah ... we haven't got time to waste Ray," I said. "Which hospital is he in?" 

"Britney, sit down," he said. 

"Ray, fuck the divorce," I screamed. "Right now, now he's still my husband. I have a right to be at the hospital. And I'm going to destroy that fucking car. I may go to the Ford dealer and fuck up every Mustang on the lot, so he can't buy another one. Now let's go!" 

"Britney," he said softly. He took my arms and pressed them against my sides. He pushed me down onto the sofa and hugged me. "Britney, Terry didn't make it, Honey. My brother is dead."

That was all I remember. My vision just closed in from the sides to nothing but blackness. When I awakened, Ray was standing over me. He looked really concerned. He had a phone held up to one ear and was talking to someone. His eyes met mine, and the conversation halted.

"You can cancel the ambulance," he said. "She's finally awake. I'll talk to her a bit, and if she needs to go into the hospital, I'll drive her."

He turned back to me. "You scared the shit out of me," he said. Then I realized again what had happened to me, and I started crying. For a long time Ray just let me cry. 

"Get it all out Britney," he said. "As soon as you're strong enough ... I hate to do this to you, but we need to go over to the accident scene." 

"I ... I ... wanna see him," I stuttered. I could barely keep my voice stable enough to make words. I was torn apart by both guilt and a profound sadness. I couldn't believe that my husband was dead. It was so sudden. 

At the same time, I wanted to kill Fred. That bastard had promised me that Terry would only have a broken bone or two. He had promised me that Terry wouldn't be seriously hurt. 

I needed to see him for myself. My mind just couldn't comprehend the concept of Terry not being alive. I was sure that they'd made a mistake. I needed to see him. 

I stood up, feeling surprisingly weak. I was afraid. But at the same time, I had a fierce desire to see him. 

I got into a squad car with Ray. We drove about three miles to the freeway on-ramp. My subconscious mind recognized my only rival for Terry's heart before my brain did. I began to wail before I even understood what I was looking at. 

Although I had never admitted it, because of my jealousy, she had once been startlingly beautiful. She was of course Terry's vision. She had started life as a normal 2014 Mustang GT. Terry had replaced almost everything on the car. He's started out with the engine before even driving the car. He'd gutted it, adding forged internals that were far stronger and more robust than the originals. 

They needed that extra strength because he added a Roush Charger supercharger that gave the car another 100 plus horsepower. He added a more efficient fuel pump and under-drive pulleys. He also beefed up the car's coolant system and fans because all of that extra power would generate a lot more heat too. 

Then he literally replaced everything except the body panels, and he modified some of those. The grills and headlights were blacked out. He did the same thing with the rims and tail lights. The glass was tinted the darkest legal shade. He replaced the spoiler with a bigger more aggressive one and added a very aggressive splitter to the front of the car. 

Literally everything on the car was black with the exception of two greenish-yellow fog lights that were designed to look like cat's eyes. The car looked like a big mean black cat; one that purred in a mechanical symphony of pistons and cams.  

When Terry put his foot on that gas pedal, the purring became a roar. But the big black cat would roar no more. I started crying again as I looked at the twisted and crumbling mass of warped metal and plastic. The fire department was still there trying to make sure that the flames didn't flare up once more. It looked as if the entire vehicle had at one time been engulfed in flames. 

"How could anyone have survived that?" I wondered aloud. I guess I had spoken far louder than I expected.

"No one did," said Ray sadly. "Britney, except for Terry, you know the car better than anyone. Is this his car?" 

Those gleaming yellowish fog lights, though damaged beyond repair were still there in the blacked out grill. Although burned beyond repair as well, his oversized after market black rims at least one of them was intact enough for me to recognize it. 

I had never seen a Mustang with Terry's mods on it. That was one of the things that people loved about Mustangs. There were more aftermarket parts available to modify Mustangs than any other car on the planet. 

A part of that was because the Mustang is one of the few cars that have been constantly in production for 50 years. No other muscle car can claim that. Another part of it is simply the fact that the Mustang as America's car attracts people from every socio-economic strata and age group. And every one of those Mustang owners wants to make his or her car unique and different from all the others. 

Yet another factor is the fact that unlike some cars, there's a Mustang out there for everyone. A poor or struggling person buys a used V6 for only a few thousand dollars. An extremely rich or successful person buys a high end Shelby or even a highly sought-after classic. In the end, they're both still driving Mustangs and the people who love them, love both. 

"Yes," I choked out. "I recognize the lights and the rims." I almost collapsed as I said it. 

"Thanks Honey," said Ray. "Be right back." He walked over to another man at the scene and started talking. While Ray was talking, a couple of people walked by talking to each other.

"The fucking body was burned so badly, they had to scrape it out of the car," said one. 

"Airbags failed," said the other one. "From what I heard the skull bounced off of the steering column so hard that the facial features wouldn't have been recognizable, even if they'd put the fire out. From what I understand, the face is completely smashed in and the neck snapped like a twig."

"The weird thing is that there are no fucking skid marks," said the first guy. "When they move the wreck no one will be able to tell that there was an accident."

"Dude, those are Brembo brakes," said the other guy. "The rotors and calipers probably cost about eight grand. This was no accident. I think somebody fucked with his brakes."

I fainted again. And from what they told me, I was in the hospital for observation. 

The next few days were a blur. I think they kept me sedated out of fear for my emotional stability. I barely remember a cremation ceremony. I was in no position to make decisions. Fortunately, Ray was there to help me through it all. 

I woke up this morning and stared at the large ornate vase that Terry's ashes were stored in. It was the first day that I had been alone in the house since...

I started crying all over again. I had no idea how I was supposed to go on living without him. Terry had been my rock; he had been my heart. And now he was gone. He was gone, and I was at least partially responsible. I needed to pay for my part in his death. And Fred needed to pay too. 

I gave a serious thought to confessing everything. But self-preservation over ruled my honesty. Besides, Terry was gone. Me going to jail, wouldn't bring him back. Fred going to jail wouldn't bring him back either. The phone rang and I picked it up, expecting it to be Ray or one of our friends. 

"Hey Babe, we need to talk," he said. "Remember the house is bugged, so go out into the yard and call me back on the phone I gave you." 

Why had I never noticed now much like a snake Fred's voice sounded? I did as he wanted, because I needed to let that asshole know how I felt." 

"You lied to me, you bastard," I screamed. "You told me he wouldn't be seriously hurt." 

"Honey, it was a mistake," he said. "No one knew the guy drove that God damned fast. That car was like a missile. All my guy did was cut his front brake lines. He still had the rears. He should have just hit the guard rail. The guy had to be going close to a hundred miles an hour. Who drives that God damned fast before they get on the freeway?" 

"You should be in jail," I screamed. "You're a murderer."

"So are you, Babe," he said. "You need to calm down because this ain't over they're doing an investigation, and if I go down, so do you. We need to get you calm so you can do what you have to do." 

"And what do I have to do, now?" I asked. 

"You have to put in a claim for the insurance money, give me half of it, and then we need to get the fuck out of here before they finish the investigation. You need to calm down."

The next morning when Ray came by to check on me, we sat down to coffee. As we talked, someone knocked upon my door. Ray went to the door. I followed him. There stood Fred. Luckily, Ray had never seen him before. He looked at him suspiciously until Fred shook his hand and introduced himself as my cousin, Fred. He apologized for his mother, my aunt, not being there; but told me that he would stay with me for a few days, until I got my feet back under me. 

Ray warmed to him, then. Fred's plan was working. Without a job, Fred was unable to pay his rent or anything else. He had always intended for me to give him money as I had been doing before Terry's accident. What neither of us had foreseen was the fact that I only had access to the household accounts. Everything else was locked up until Terry's estate had been settled. 

"I've missed your hot little pussy," said Fred as soon as Ray left. He reached out and pawed my breast, and I didn't have the motivation or the strength to even ward him off. 

I just sat there on the sofa for the rest of the day. I didn't eat or anything else. As darkness fell, I heard a voice. I was sure it was Terry. 

I turned around and saw Fred leering at me. "Time for bed," he smiled. 

It was the worst sex I've ever experienced and the most painful. I lay there like a rock. Fred didn't seem to mind. The main reason that I didn't object was because I didn't want to be alone. To be truthful I was afraid. I could still feel Terry's presence all over the house. 

Over the first few days, Fred explored the house. "Damn this is a nice place," he said. "If things were different, I could see staying here for a while. But I have to tell you, it feels weird here. It feels as if your hubby was still around the place watching us." 

I looked at him as if he was crazy. He was acting as if we were having some sort of twisted honeymoon. I had no idea what made him think that I wanted any kind of future with the man who had murdered my husband. It was an awful situation. 

During the day, we barely spoke to each other. He stayed on the phone constantly. I was torn apart by my guilt. I spent my time looking through albums of pictures of Terry and me during our marriage. At night, we were brought together by our separate needs. 

I again was afraid to be alone. Fred, on the other hand, just wanted sex. We both knew that as soon as the insurance money came through we would go our own separate ways. 

It was the third day that Fred was there that it happened. It was shortly after dusk when I heard a crash in the living room and the sound of glass breaking. 

I ran down the stairs and into the living room, prepared to give Fred hell. Since he'd been there I was constantly screaming at him for even touching Terry's things. I had locked the door into the garage to prevent him from even looking at the collection of parts that Terry had spent so much time working on during his last days. 

When I got into the living room, Fred was staring at the wall. He was as white as a sheet. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled. "What did you break now?"

He turned and looked at me. His eyes never blinked. "I saw him," he said shakily. "He was standing right there."

There was no need for him to clarify his statement. I instantly knew who "HE" was. 

"He was standing right there," he repeated. "He looked at me as if he wanted to kill me. I could feel anger and hate coming off of him in waves."

Fred's teeth were chattering, and he was shivering. I had him describe what he had seen to me. When he was done, I had him tell me all over again. For the first time that I can remember, we slept together and didn't have sex. 

The next night was worse, and I was a part of it. We had gone out to McDonald's since I refused to cook for Fred. We were eating the food and watching TV. We had been together constantly since Fred had seen what he saw. 

We suddenly heard the sound of an engine revving up in my driveway. I was sure that it was the sound of Terry's Mustang. I heard it enough times to be able to differentiate that exhaust note from any other. 

I looked out the window and saw nothing. Fred ran outside and looked around the yard. There were no hidden speakers or anything anywhere on the lawn or the porch. 

When we walked back into the house, we were arguing already. "That was Terry's car," I sobbed. "But it was destroyed. I saw it." 

"It could have been anybody," said Fred. As we closed the door behind us, I had turned to yell at Fred, and I noticed that his eyes were huge. I turned around, and I saw him myself. Terry was standing behind me. He was looking around for something. Then he looked up and saw us. His mouth opened as if he was trying to talk, but nothing would come out. He made a really furious face, and then I heard words. The voice was twisted and angry. 

"Get out of my house," he said. There was no trace of love for me in his eyes. The only emotions I saw were anger and hate. Fred and I both ran out of the house. We sat at the curb, for over an hour before we had the courage to go back in. 

Fred demanded that I go into the bathroom with him, so he could shower. During the encounter with Terry's ghost, he pissed his pants. 

That night we got on the Internet and looked for factual information about haunting and ghosts. Most of what we found was conflicting and just sounded crazy. Every article seemed to report different things about the spirits of the departed. The one thing they all agreed on was that ghosts are the spirits of people who died leaving things undone or needing resolution. 

That description fit Terry really well. Both Fred and I were afraid to be in the house. We huddled together to gain bravery out of our shared fear. We decided that one of us would remain awake while the other slept. We would switch every two hours. 

In all actuality, now that I had gotten over my shock, I wanted to see Terry again. I wanted the chance to apologize to him for everything I had done. Fred made another one of his phone calls while I tried to sleep. I didn't actually hear what was said but after the call, his mood was better. It was so much better that he started pawing me. I rolled over and went to sleep. 

"Fuck you," he said. 

"Wasn't that what you were trying to do?" I asked. 

"As soon as we get the money, I'm gone," he said. "You can deal with your ghost all alone." 

* * * * * *

Terry

I laughed my ass off as I sat down. I looked around the small storefront building I had rented at the array of lasers and other equipment that we had set up. 

"It's so good to hear you laugh again," said a voice beside me. Hearing the words, I nodded and then thought back to how I had gotten to this point. 

I guess it all started about a month ago when I had the wool pulled from over my eyes. I discovered a lot of things about the woman I had married. Most of the things I figured out were not pleasant. I also finally realized how much of a fool I had been in regard to her. 

I guess that for the past five years, I could be described as being fat and happy. For those of you, who are bad at spelling, fat and happy is spelled S-T-U-P-I-D. 

I had fallen in love with Britney without realizing that we were both the same and very different. I loved Britney with all of my heart and soul. I actually enjoyed busting my ass, just so I could give her things. The problem was that I never noticed that Britney didn't love me the same way. 

Britney apparently only loved the fact that I loved her. And since I loved her, nearly as much as she loved herself, we belonged with each other. We spent five years locked together in our mutual love for her. 

I considered her to be the person I loved more than anything or anyone else on Earth. I would gladly have laid down my life for her. She regarded me with the same degree of concern or affection that one might have given to a puppy or other cherished pet. 

She was very kind to me. She made sure I had everything I needed to be happy. Our life together was very joyful. We even had, or so I thought, a very robust sex life. We made all the plans that other going couples make. We had even spoken about exactly when we would start pushing out perfect children as Britney put it. 

However, as they say, "Man plans, God laughs." 

Until recently, this was an up and down year for me. It was filled with spirit lifting highs and absolutely dismal lows. However, through them all I had Britney. As my heart, my soul, and my anchor, Britney was there to cheer me up when I was low and to keep me grounded when I was high. 

The high point in my life had been winning an engineering award and being recognized for it in a ceremony my company held. The low point I thought until recently had been seeing the 2015 Mustang, or that thing Ford was telling us was the new Mustang. I truly like what they tried to do. I love the back end of the car. I guess the sides don't offend me much. I can see the logic in the choices of engines, although for us purists, nothing will ever beat a V8. The independent rear suspension along with the improved handling gives me major wood.

But then they let us down by making the front of the car look just like the fucking Fusion. Don't get me wrong, the Fusion is a nice car. But I wouldn't put a horse on it and call it a Mustang. 

Anyway, just after the ceremony Britney started acting funny. I decided to keep an eye on her to see what was going on. Any time a woman makes a major change to her life abruptly, there's a reason for it. 




One Way Love



Britney, who hadn't done any type of workout since she gave up cheerleading, raised a red flag with me. So one day I took my lunch hour to go and see her at the health club she'd joined. 

Several of my friends told me that when a woman turns thirty, she changes. I knew that Britney's looks were an important part of her self-image. I thought that might be why she wanted to work out all of a sudden. 

She didn't even have the sense to hide what she was doing. I walked into the large room filled with exercise machines and saw my wife engaged in a full lip lock with the same giant steroid abuser I'd seen her talking to at my award ceremony. 

From looking at the way they kissed it was obvious that they had done much more than kiss. The level of comfort they had with each other's bodies loudly proclaimed their level of Intimacy. 

To say that I was heartbroken was the understatement of the century. But then they were both adults, and neither of them seemed to give a damn about anything except each other. 

I loved Britney with all of my heart. If the guy had been attacking her, or forcing himself on her, I would probably be dead or in jail right now because I would have given my life, or taken his, to save her. However, Britney was clearly giving as well as she got. They were both so into what they were doing that they didn't notice me at first. 

I would fight FOR Britney with my dying breath, but I'd never humiliate myself by fighting OVER her. I also wasn't going to finance her cheating. 

The manager of the club was very helpful. He gave me a full refund and promised to take care of the matter. When we settled on the amount of the refund, I reminded him that I hadn't actually paid the full price. I'd gotten a discount from my company's health plan. His eyes got huge when I told him which company I worked for.

I went back to work as if nothing had happened. As usual, when I had a problem, I locked myself in my office and worked. Working was a great way for me to think. I decided, that afternoon that as usual I should give Britney what she wanted. What I meant was that she obviously wanted the steroid king. 

Who was I to stand in the way of true love? 

Even at thirty years of age, I had to admit that I was no lounge lizard. I wasn't a gigolo, a lothario, a Casanova, or any of those other smooth European lover types. I was not an expert on women or the art and science of love. Although I'd had a few relationships in college and before, Britney was my first and only true love. 

So in dealing with Britney's betrayal, I turned to what I knew. I looked at our marriage like the design and manufacturing of an automobile or like any modern engineering project. 

I broke the situation up into separate components and assigned different degrees of urgency and importance to each component. 

I needed to stabilize myself emotionally first. The best way for me to do that would be to isolate myself from the source of my pain while I tried to heal. That meant that I needed to be away from Britney for a while. 

I guess it was as if Britney was a disease in a third-world country. The first step the medics took was to remove the sick person from the conditions that allowed them to become infected. They did that by taking the person to a hospital. Then they could begin to treat the person without the danger of re-infecting them before they built up an immunity against the disease.

So that night when I got home, I avoided Britney like the plague. I had originally decided to tell her to get the fuck out of my house. As far as I was concerned, she could go and live with Steroid the barbarian. She was his now. She wanted him; she could have him. On the other hand, he could have her. But I couldn't do it. 

So I pressed pause. I went out to run and thought about the problem while I put more miles on my running shoes. I learned a lot of things during that forty-minute run. I learned that there are all kinds of instruments in a band. Most of the time when I listen to music, I listen for the guitar riffs. That makes sense because I used to play guitar. However, during those forty minutes, I realized that everything didn't have to be up front and in your face like a flashy guitar riff. I also learned that Myron Grombacher is a God. 

Myron Grombacher is the Drummer behind Pat Benatar. And I mean Drummer with a capital D, because everyone knows that there are drummers and there are Drummers. A drummer is kind of like a metronome or a click track. They keep time; nothing more, nothing less. They make sure that all of the other instruments stay on the beat. However, a Drummer actually adds to the song. They are so much a part of the music that without them, the song becomes ... lessened dramatically. 

While I ran I listened to my usual eclectic mix of rock, pop, country, classical and metal. I found myself skimming through some of the later Pat B. catalogue and remembered seeing some of her videos on YouTube. Myron Grombacher is the first and only stand up drummer that I remember, and as I listened to the music, I realized that I didn't have to get up in Britney's face to get my point across. If she wanted a man who would beat her or dominate her ... maybe that was why she needed Captain Steroid, but I wasn't that guy. 

Maybe that was it. Maybe we had just grown apart. Maybe she wasn't wrong in what she did. Maybe it was just the way she went about doing it was wrong. Perhaps Britney was just acting on a deep-seated need that I could never supply. Perhaps many years on down the road, we could get together and talk about it. I hoped so, very much. But at that moment, it wasn't what I needed. 

For all of our life together, like any good husband I put Britney's needs first. However, in this situation, I needed to be a little bit selfish and attend to my own needs and my own pain. My biggest need was to end my pain. And Britney was the source of my pain. For the first time since I met her, my pain was stronger than my love. But taking a lesson from Myron, I decided to be less confrontational. 

So instead of marching in and beating on my chest, I waited for her to come to me. And then I, without raising my voice, suggested that she should spend some time with her parents, because we needed, or I, needed some space. 

It worked. With Britney away, I could further compartmentalize my problem. I needed to decide if what she did was bad enough that we couldn't stay together. I needed to get over the pain I was feeling, and I needed to decide what to do about my decision on the former of the two statements. If we couldn't stay together it was quite simple. We'd get a divorce. 

If we did stay together, was even worse. I had to figure out whether just to forgive her with a stern warning, get counseling, or set up some sort of post nuptial agreement with a stiff penalty if she ever repeated the incident. 

Getting over the pain was harder than it sounded. It's like having a headache. You can't just think, "Stop hurting." It usually takes a combination of time and some concoction to numb the pain while its ongoing. 

My numbing agent was a particularly powerful chemical. It was one of those three-letter drugs like THC or HGH. I used JFD. JFD is available over the counter and even in some supermarkets. JFD stands for Jack Fuckin' Daniels, and for those first few days I practically ran an IV of it. 

Although I'd never been a drinker, during those first few days, I got drunk every night and felt like shit every day trying to let my body get over the previous night's drunk. After a couple of days, I showed up at work to find my secretary, Christina in emergency rescue mode. 

"What did the bitch do?" she asked. It was the first time that she had ever said a single bad thing about Britney, but I could see for the first time that she didn't like my wife. 

"I don't want to talk about it," I said. "It's personal."

"I'm a person," she snarled. Then she turned on one of her high heels, and went and got me a cup of coffee. As she put the cup down she looked at me. "I'm giving her this one. But if she EVER causes you ANY pain again..." I could see the flecks in her green eyes changing colors with her anger. 

Christina was consistently upbeat and she always cheered me up and made me feel like everything we did was great. If a supplier was unhappy with a modification we had done, Christina was always convinced that THEY were stupid, because WE were perfect. 

Just that little bit of interaction with Christina was enough to make me realize that my form of treatment for my Britney problem was not good for me. 

"Christi," I said quietly. Her eyes gleamed because without understanding the minutia of the situation, I had crossed a border. 

"That's the first time you used anything other than my whole name," she said. 

"I'm sorr..." I began. 

"Don't be," she blurted out. "I liked it. Now what do you need?"

"I just wondered; you were always so upbeat. What do you do when you get down?"

"I turn to you," she said quietly. Her slight smile after she said it warmed my broken heart. 

I was so busy running my thoughts and plans through my head that I almost forgot about lunch. Christina brought in Domino's pizza. 

My thoughts kept going around and around in the same circles. I loved Britney with all of my heart. Up until recently, I really believed that she felt the same. However, the evidence didn't seem to bear that out. 

Over our time together I had met lots of attractive women, but none of them had ever turned my head. I guess that I was so in love with Britney that other women didn't register. 

Apparently, Britney didn't feel the same way. I have no way of knowing if this was the first time she had cheated on me, or if she'd been doing it all along. 

The main red flag for me was the fact that she was capable of doing it. I couldn't get over it. The thought of having sex with another woman just seemed foreign to me. I knew that it would hurt Britney, so I found myself gagging at the thought of it. 

Britney was not only capable of doing it; she'd done it. So in my mind, she just didn't love me the way that I loved her. I guess in modern society, the concepts of love and sex aren't always connected. But for me, they still are. 

There was also the matter of trust. How the hell could I ever trust her again? 

And if I couldn't trust her, how could we be married? I hated the idea of running around trying to keep tabs on her every second of every day. It would just be exhausting. I'd be better off alone.

Just as I began to contemplate how my life as a carefree divorced guy would be different, Christina came back into my office.

She dropped a magazine on my desk. "Build a car," she said. The way she said it made it seem like a challenge. "Instead of drinking your life away, do something constructive."

"Whah?" I asked. 

"You don't like the new Mustang, so ... build an old one." The magazine she'd dropped had several listings for older Mustangs for sale. The one that really caught my attention was a 67 Fastback. Even as I looked at the car in its less than pristine current state, I began to imagine the possibilities.

That was when I stopped doing my imitation of an alcoholic and started designing my mods to the car. I threw myself into it, and it helped. 

The next thing I did was started my search for an attorney. I realized, while she was away, that things between Britney, and I would never be the same again. I'd be better off starting over. I thought that we would both be happier in the end. I met several times with my attorney before having him draw up the papers. He outlined all of the positives and negatives about the divorce procedure for me. He also wanted me to take some time before making any final decisions. 

On the day that Britney left to go and stay with her parents, the 67 arrived. My imitation of an alcoholic ended. At first, I thought that it was good that Britney hadn't noticed I'd been drinking so heavily. It was then I realized that if she really cared about me she'd have noticed. 

I worked on the car every night for most of the night. I had bought so much liquor that I did take a sip every now and then, but it was nothing like I'd done those first two nights while I ignored Britney. 

A couple of days after Britney left I had a visitor; my father dropped by. He wanted me to believe that he was just passing by. However, it's hard just to pass by when you live three hours away by car. 

It didn't matter. I liked my father. We spent a pleasant couple of hours talking. He was amazed by my plans for the 67. I can talk cars with anyone. So talking about my car with a person that I both respected and cared about was actually fun. 

Somewhere in the conversation, we talked a bit about the rift between Britney and me. I didn't tell him the cause of our troubles. I thought that was Britney's cross to bear since she had caused the problems. But I think he got the idea that since I was the one who needed to be away from her for a while, she was the one who'd fucked up. I also don't think he'd have to work very hard to figure out what had gone wrong. 

And sure enough, a couple of days after our talk, I came home to find Britney had returned. I hadn't told her that she could move back in, but according to my lawyer, I didn't have the right to kick her out of our home. 

That was the day that I gave my attorney the go ahead to print the papers and have them served. My attorney also suggested retaining the services of a good PI. I had to tell him that I was a step ahead of him in that regard. I already hired a PI to wire the house with several cameras and a no-nonsense system for recording everything in the house. 

My PI assured me that I would have plenty of evidence, and I needed it. My lawyer had gotten my case assigned to a judge who was very sensitive to the needs of people who'd been cheated on. The problem was that I had no proof. And as much as Britney claimed she loved me, I was sure that she wouldn't just walk into the court and admit to everything. 

Every time Britney and I had spoken; she refused to even discuss the divorce. I tried everything. I made offers to her. But she just seemed to be unwilling just to give up. I hated to do it, but I had the PI turn on the surveillance system a couple of days after Britney returned. 

Even though I owned the house and had a full right to install a surveillance system, Britney also by right of marriage could be considered an owner of the property and therefore, had a legal right to expect a certain degree of privacy. So despite what they show on TV, you can't always get away with bugging your own home. There's also the case where even if you do get away with it, some judges simply won't allow it to be used. 

It was a legal gray area. My solution was to lie just a bit. I turned the security system on and two days later, told Britney that I'd installed a security system. I could always fudge the dates. Britney only smiled at me. And told me it was a good thing that I was concerned for her safety. It gave me the idea that she somehow already knew about the system. 

The next day after getting home, I went into the office and checked to see what I'd gotten over the three days the system had been active. I had nothing. And I mean literally nothing. There should have at least been hours of video showing nothing but empty rooms and a Britney and I walking around the house. But there was nothing but electronic snow filled screens. Even the audio mics had nothing. 

The PI concluded that either the system had been improperly installed or there was some sort of natural RF interference in the house or the surrounding area. He also told me that there might be the possibility that Britney had someone working for her who had set up some sort of electronic jamming field that had negated the system. 

So Britney and I were at a standstill. I couldn't really go into court without any evidence. And Britney was getting nowhere convincing me to drop the divorce. The bad thing was, that although she always told me that it would never happen again, she had not once actually admitted to having sex with the imitation Arnold. 

If I went to court with what I had now, the only thing I could claim was to have seen her kissing the guy. According to my lawyers, with just that, we'd probably end up in counseling for six months and then have to pretty much start all over again. 

My attorney decided, with my permission to go after the steroid king. We figure if we threw a lot of charges at him, he'd convince Britney to wrap things up quickly just to get the pressure off of him. We figured if we lit a fire under him; he'd light one under Britney. It would also prove that they were still in contact. 

In the meetings between my lawyer and Britney's lawyer, we always spoke as if the security system had given us a lot of evidence. In short, we bluffed. We really had nothing on film or tape, but they didn't have to know that.

Over the next few days, I tried to keep my contact with Britney to a minimum. However, it was hard. I spent most of my time in the garage working on the 67. I had stripped most of the trim and was beginning to remove as much of the body as I could. I intended to take the car down to the frame and check for damage and rust. I intended to stiffen the frame for better handling by adding sub frame connections in all the critical spots. Then I'd have the frame powder coated and start to rebuild it. 

Britney started trying to talk to me as much as she could. She was also doing pretty much all she could to tease me. I felt that her antics in that respect were below the belt because I still wasn't over her yet. 

But as is so often the case, things took a turn for the bizarre just as it had seemed that we were settling down for the long haul. 

I was determined to get my divorce and Britney was fighting it with every breath she had. 

For some reason, she seemed to believe that everyone was allowed to cheat once or twice. She kept giving me completely ridiculous statistics about marriages that survived infidelity. She also made a list of all of the couples, we knew that were happy, even though one or both partners had cheated. 

The morning that our stalemate was broken seemed like any other morning. I got up early and went in to work much earlier than I had to, so I could avoid Britney. As I stepped onto the driveway, briefcase in hand, I broke into a smile. 

That was the thing about my car. It was one of those things that only a car lover can understand. Every time I saw that car I smiled. Then I noticed it. If I had flat black rims, I'd never have noticed it. However, my rims were a very high gloss black. So I noticed the smudge from five feet away. 

I thought that it was just road dust, or maybe even brake dust, but as I got closer, I noticed something that shouldn't have been there. There were two telltale drops of fluid near my driver's side front wheel. 

I started the car like I always did and drove very slowly down the street and around the block. I pulled into the parking lot in the strip mall around the block from my house. I drove at only just ten miles per hour so I barely made it up the incline into the lot. Once on the lot, I coasted around in a huge arc until the car stopped. As I suspected the brake pedal went all the way to the floor. 

I made two phone calls. The first was to my brother Ray. I told him what I suspected and what I'd done about it. He told me he'd be right there. My second call was to Christina. I told her that I'd probably be late to work that morning. 

When my brother got there, and we spoke, he told me that calling Christina was probably a mistake. "We have no idea who allegedly did this," he said. "You may have inadvertently notified the suspect, that we're on to him or her. We have no idea what his or her motivation may be. Christina may be pissed off at you because you didn't give her a raise. Hell, you may have missed her birthday or failed to notice a new haircut. You can't just go around giving people information. You can't trust anyone until they've been ruled out. Until we figure this out, everyone is a suspect."